


Energy

by ImpishChimera31



Category: Original Work
Genre: Brief Violence, Evalynne deserves better, Gore, John is an ASS, Other, but also probably overused, but heavily implied, but she gets him back, but that's about it, it's kinda cool, kinda historical since it's based in the 1700s, no blood described, she's gonna see them all die when they're old anyway, she's got witchy necro powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22954639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishChimera31/pseuds/ImpishChimera31
Summary: There are many cemeteries around the world, yet only one houses a live agnostic woman. The church attached is abandoned in favor of another down the road, and serves as her home until she can find something better.How ironic, especially considering her abilities.It was normal for John to disturb her peace, and this was the last straw.
Relationships: No 'ships because they hate each other, and not in the good way - Relationship





	Energy

Lying among the mists of a rather large town are a few cemeteries; though, in only one does a live girl reside. Her name was Evalynne O’Connor, a rather average-sized girl of the time who bore deep green eyes and medium length blonde hair, yet her simple attire left nothing to gawk at. Despite her plain dress, her rather round face and button nose were to be adored, but the residents of the surrounding neighborhood would beg to differ. She had a sort of gift that one would most likely deem creepy, if not a bit cliché— usually considered “demonic” among the religious types. To put it simply, she could see spirits. Not to mention, she had become more than accustomed to the residual energies of the long-dead loved ones below her. However, the same could not be said for the children around the aforementioned town that surrounded her. She was considered a witch or satanist by most, and being declared a demon was not uncommon either. She could simply see and sense energies that others could not, and it bothered her to no end; but it’s not like she had anybody to turn to.

  


The evening mist had yet to drift and fall as Evalynne stepped along the center path of the graveyard. It was young, proven by the earliest graves dating to about a decade ago: 1753. At the moment, she was making her way to her late mother’s stone with some flowers in hand. It’s a new schedule: Every year on this late September night, the 12th, she pays respects to her mother with flowers and a prayer. Her death still weighs heavily on her heart, but she doesn’t dare let herself be overwhelmed by her emotions, especially in front of the townsfolk. She does not want a repeat of the last time. Shaking her head a bit to clear her thoughts, she approaches her mother’s grave and settles down among the grass to complete her newfound ritual. However, just as she set the flowers down and started her prayer, she was interrupted by a heathen. 

  


“So the witch is placing a curse on her own mother? For shame.” 

  


Evalynne turns to see a rather handsome man with brown hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes. She struggles to not let her teeth noticeably grit as the emotion in her eyes disappears. 

  


Almost monotone, she retorts, “At least this ‘witch’ is not stomping on graves like a monkey or robbing them of their belongings.” Evalynne did not dare turn away from the enemy, even as his face twisted. Instead, she stays facing him with that carefully blank expression, and moves to stand in front of a gap between the stones just behind her. She needs to be able to run if things go haywire, after all...

  


_And go haywire, they did._

  


The man, John Stanford, stalked towards Evalynn with burning eyes. As he stepped once forward, she stepped back double. He took another one, she took another two. Until it eventually turned into an all-out race; some sick game of tag, if you will. Her blank mask mostly broken by that point, she tried to beeline for her makeshift home by the yard, but he’s faster. He practically tackles her to the ground among the stones of the dead and buried, and proceeds to pin her down with her stomach against the ground. Evalynne’s eyes gain a silvery sheen as her distress rises to immeasurable levels, but her attacker cannot see it. As she flails her limbs and writhes around in his iron grip, her eyes shine a bit brighter. 

  


“You know,” John’s struggle is shown in his voice, but he still keeps a smug and arrogant tone “that wench deserves a curse after all the ones she had cast over the townspeople. Maybe I should dance on her grave like the rest of the town did? That would be fun. Though, not as fun as this-- ” He didn’t have time to continue before Evalynne’s eyes started to glow a dangerous silvery white, him just then taking notice of it as he feels an equally dangerous aura. 

  


He shoots up to his feet as best he can in his position, and tries to back away. His anger and arrogance are now replaced with fear, a sort of curiosity, and even anticipation as to what may happen. He starts to back away even more as his hair stands on end, a bit of a static chill running down his spine as Evalynne rises to her feet. Silver eyes still glowing, she turns her body to face him, effectively paralyzing his movements. 

  


“Oh, how the tables have turned.” Evalynne stalks closer to him, and he retreats two steps for her every one. She takes one, he is unable to retreat two. His figure is now shaking under a mysterious pressure, his ankles being held captive as he falls on his rear and tries to crawl away, but to no avail. 

  


His breathing is now as frantic as his expression, wide-eyed as he locks gazes with his former target. He's broken from his daze when bolts of pain erupt from his sides. He tries to pull away from the grasp around his ankles, but more hands latch on to his body. He finally recognizes the stench of rotting flesh and feverishly glances around.

  


He screams and shouts for them to get away, now ignoring the glowing eyes idly watching his struggle. Soon, he finds himself screaming in agony as teeth and nails sink into his flesh, some bony fingertips stabbing through his skin as well. The last thing he saw before he stilled, from the pain or blood loss he does not know, are those shining, silvery eyes and a small smirk etched below it in amusement. 

  


He couldn't feel his own face. “You should have thought twice before speaking in such a manner to a ‘witch,’ hm?” Then he finally succumbs to the sweet release of death.

  


After _that_ fiasco, Evalynne’s eyes slowly dim back to their normal forest green, returning the dead to their resting places with a plethora of groans from their mouths and decaying bodies. A mauled corpse lie in wait, littered with bites, scratches, and torn clothing as she steps towards it. Even if he _was_ an insufferable man, he still deserved a proper burial. She'd rather not see him around her yard, anyway.

  


With the flick of her wrist, she summoned her shovel and dug a grave, floating the corpse towards it, then proceeded to ease the corpse into it as respectful as she felt necessary, much to her chagrin (can’t be incurring the wrath of the dead any more now, can we?). After she laid the corpse and filled the grave, she walked off to create a new headstone with a faint smile on her face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this old thing and I hope you enjoyed!  
> It was legit just an old english assignment I decided to edit and post up here.  
>  _Especially since quotev hates my computer and apparently can't sync with it ugh ___  
> I also have no idea if major character death applies since John isn't really anything major, unless you count him being a major douche  
>  Anyway, yeah-- this was kinda fun to write and y'all are cool for having read it.  
> Have a Good day/night, peeps


End file.
